


Pandora's Box

by palomino333



Series: Pandora-verse [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alcohol, Alien Planet, Assault, Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bad Parenting, Blood and Gore, Curiosity, Devotion, Established Relationship, Exploration, Father-Daughter Relationship, Friendship, Genocide, Healing, M/M, Mind Rape, Mirror Universe, Molestation, Non-Linear Narrative, Plague, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Questions, Regret, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-11 12:52:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12935688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palomino333/pseuds/palomino333
Summary: "McCoy scoffed. 'I've had enough of your universe. I don't need to see how broken I am in it.' Spock raised an eyebrow. 'But you are curious.'" Set during and directly after "Mirror, Mirror."





	1. Chapter 1

He could understand why Janice left.

McCoy hadn't been unsympathetic to her, far from it. She had not expected for her captain, of all people, to turn on, and assault her in such a manner. While it had not quite been Kirk, the damage had still been done. How could one live and work alongside another, after being subjected to such desires that lurked just beneath the surface?

Rand had been efficient after the incident, but quieter, more subdued, withdrawing upon herself. McCoy had spoken to her a few times on it, the first while checking her for injuries from Kirk's duplicate manhandling her. Rand, however, had not been willing to speak often. With a shake of her head, she would reply, "Doctor, it's over. I don't wish to talk about it any longer. The captain is himself again." Her tone, however, grew colder, addressing Kirk as "the captain" when referring to him among others, or simply "Captain" when speaking with him.

Nevertheless, he had prescribed her time off the ship to take her mind off things. Rand was left off at a nearby starbase with a few other crew members that were due for shore leave for two weeks' time. Closing her file after the Enterprise left dock, McCoy wondered, in retrospect, if that had been the correct thing to do. Still, keeping her on board would have only worsened matters.

However, when the crewmen returned, and Rand's resignation was with them, his intuition had proved to be correct. "I'm sorry, Jim," he commented as Kirk glanced over Janice's letter on his PADD.

"It can't be helped," Kirk commented, although the note of regret was plain to hear in his voice.

McCoy, twisting his pen between his fingers, leaned forward. "Jim, what's bothering you?"

He placed the PADD down. "I made sure to give her a glowing recommendation for her next posting. She left because of me. I understand that it was an exaggerated version, but nevertheless, he was still a part of me. Makes living with it a bit harder."

McCoy put his pen down. "We all have our demons, you know that."

Kirk sighed in annoyance. "I know that, Bones, but it's small consolation. I have the memories of both halves, and I," his fingers clenched inward, "I can still feel it within me, that carnal desire. I wanted another human being, and didn't care about her consent." He dropped his hand, and shook his head at himself. "One year in, and I am already doubting myself. This voyage is going so swimmingly," he concluded, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I'd be more concerned if you weren't," McCoy replied evenly, pointing to the chair behind Kirk, "Sit down. You're having a drink."

Kirk tugged the chair over, and sat down upon it. McCoy reached into the cabinet under his desk, and procured a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. After topping both off, he placed the bottle aside. Kirk held up his glass. "To Yeoman Rand." McCoy nodded, and they touched their glasses together before taking a drink.

Smacking his lips, McCoy decided not to comment further upon her, as it would, at this point, be pointless, and a complete invasion of her privacy. On Kirk's angle, he was concerned for the loss of a functioning crew member, as well as doubt it cast upon himself as an officer. For McCoy, it was concern over Janice's health. Perhaps moving on was the better route, but there was also a chance that this new behavior could continue. In either case, she had been changed by the experience, and not for the better. It was Rand's decision as to where she would go from here.

XXXXXX

When the other Spock's eyes snapped open, McCoy felt a mixture of relief and disturbance. A living being's life had been saved, but the predatory look in his eyes was unmistakable. Instantly, he realized what he had just done, but he hadn't a chance to outmatch the Vulcan's speed, or strength. The other Spock seized his wrist in a vice-like grip. He tried not to think further on how easily he could crush him, or rip him limb from limb. His head shoved back against the wall, he twisted slightly to the side, trying to angle himself as far as he could from him. Reaching his hand sideways for his dagger, he kept his eyes fixated on that dark gaze, intimidating and holding a hunger beneath it. His hand twisted in the air, brushing up against the hilt of the dagger before slipping off as Spock's mirrored image sunk into his mind.

"Our minds are merging, doctor," his voice was like a caress, "Our minds are one. I feel what you feel. I know what you know." He leaned in close to McCoy, who realized, much to his own disgust, that the Vulcan was enjoying himself, on a perverse level. He slipped into semi-consciousness, memories ripped from him, and held up the bright light of this universe's medical bay. In his mind, he could feel the mocking contempt Spock's counterpart had for him. McCoy, for however much he expected it, still felt stripped bare, in a way, by the callousness with which this intruder treated moments he would rather keep private.

He was in his office again, on that quiet day. Spock, his Spock, was tracing his thumb over his lip. He could feel his fascination through their touch, Spock quietly contemplative of him. McCoy grasped his hand, and slowly lowered it. He leaned forward, his heart pounding, and pressed his lips to his. The Vulcan jerked at the contact for one moment. The next, however, he seized the doctor by the shoulders, tugging him close, and deepening the kiss.

Grabbing a fistful of Spock's dark hair, McCoy shoved him against the wall of his quarters, rattling the medical books upon a shelf, growling to him suggestively, "What's the matter, Spock? Afraid you're wrong?"

Picked up, and tossed upon his bed in a manner that he would have regarded as playful, McCoy raised an eyebrow at him. "The contrary, doctor," he replied, moving toward him, his hair tussled, and a shift in his gaze that made McCoy's breath catch as he knelt between the doctor's legs, and placed his hands upon his shoulders, pushing him down firmly onto the pillow and blanket, "I find that you have lost your argument."

His fists clenched, McCoy glowered at this crooked parody of his lover. "Had your fun?" He pointed away from himself, and hissed, "Get out!"

Spock's counterpart, however, did not move. "Fascinating," he commented.

"Stop it," McCoy hissed, his eyes widening. Spock, however, refused, and brushed the memories he had picked through aside, focusing upon harsher ones that cut into Leonard, which still brought pain to him that he attempted to ignore. Bottles of alcohol lay, turned sideways, upon a table before him, his head in his hands. Jocelyn, his Jocelyn, stared at him, her arms folded in contempt as she admitted that she had been seeing Clay all along behind his back. He held Joanna close to him in his arms, and felt utterly nothing, a shell of a man even as he whispered comforts to her. She'd awoken from a nightmare, and had asked to sleep beside him for the night. She'd done that a few times right after Jocelyn left. Perpetual gray light filtered down upon him, bathing his medical books and tools in dullness, his head throbbing from exhaustion and sheer boredom.

His fists clenched as the memories were drilled back into him, while on the physical plane, he felt the sash about his waist being unwound. He lifted a hand to try to shove Spock off, but it was pinned backward with a such a first that his wrist threatened to snap. He moaned, wincing as he felt the Vulcan's fingers brush over his crotch, palming and stroking at it. It felt so deceptively soft, and familiar. Unwittingly, he arched up into the touch with a groan.

"GET OFF ME!" McCoy snapped, despite knowing full well that he lacked the mental fortitude, in contrast with the intruder, to effectively push him out. His antagonist could quite easily shred his mind if he so wished to. Yet, it seemed, for his own amusement or curiosity, he handled him similarly to how a cat batted about a toy. His fingers twitched as Spock unzipped his pants. He let out a moan as Spock fondled his balls through the fabric of his underwear. He felt utterly humiliated, and trapped, his own body betraying him, and his mind prodded and poked at by an uncaring hand. He wanted out, and now, but Spock only seemed to clench his grip about him tighter, reality slipping further from his grasp, and forcing him back into the mental plane. Fear crept upon him. Was this what he intended, to leave him a prisoner of his own mind, never to regain control of his body?

Spock's mental image, however, betrayed nothing, his gaze merely calculating. Having fallen further into this unreality, however, McCoy felt more aware of his presence, and detected, much to his own disturbance, that there was a second presence, a mere shadow, perhaps one that was not aware. Someone else was there. Who…? "No," he whispered, incredulous as Spock detected McCoy's growing familiarity with it, "It can't be…"

Within his own universe, Spock had called him "t'hy'la" endearingly, while McCoy tended to call him "love," or "darling." Lying beside him in bed, the disjointedness of Spock's dreams twisting about through their bodily contact, he had contemplated what the future between them entailed. Wasn't their sharing of bodies, as well as their companionship, enough? McCoy knew that Spock would not intend to harm him, but he still had his reservations. He had considered himself bound, heart and soul, to another living being before, and that had nearly killed him. There was also the fact that he would be connecting himself completely to someone who was not fully human. Humans themselves were difficult enough to manage. McCoy was cognizant of his many failings, and was not thrilled to air them. Perhaps his mentality would shift away from what it was, and the potential modification of his persona was something he would much rather avoid. With a smirk, he would lie back down, and curl in closer toward his lover, burying his head in his neck. It would take from the fun of their arguments, anyway.

Spock's mirror image saw no need for verbal confirmation, rather he seized upon McCoy's surprise, as well as a steadily-growing curiosity perhaps even the doctor himself was not yet aware of. "You wish to know, don't you?" He inquired dryly.

McCoy scoffed. "I've had enough of your universe. I don't need to see how broken I am in it."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "But you are curious." Despite himself, Leonard knew he was correct, though he just as much dreaded what the answer would be. Spock found it interesting that this rather easily-manipulated version of McCoy hadn't yet melded with his alternate self. Was it fear that prevented such a thing, or stubbornness? His own t'hy'la had at first been stubborn over it, but the violence of their own universe forced his hand. If there was not at least a single ally to be kept, then it would be easy to be killed.

McCoy was easy to distract with the image he presented him. Jocelyn appeared sharper in this universe, her eyes narrowed, and predatory, but still utterly beautiful, more so with her midriff exposed, and her plunging neckline. Leonard, despite himself, found himself captivated by her for a moment. That was, until he felt Spock biting down upon his nipple, forcing him to cry out from pain. Jocelyn's mouth twisted into a smug grin, her expression betraying nothing as she stood before him, a phaser drawn. Or it wasn't him, McCoy realized, rather, it was the man who looked just like him, though with a much harder expression, and several knife-cut scars lancing through his face and neck. This version of Leonard, seated on the edge of his desk, looked utterly bored, as if the threat was a waste of his time. A wedding band was upon his left hand. His phaser lay on the desk. "Go ahead," he stated dryly, "shoot."

She shook her head. "You're more valuable alive. Once I inform the commodore of your tampering with the Capellans, your career is over."

He shrugged. "Useless shock troops. The race was used, and met its end. As does anything else." His alternate, viewing the scene in the manner of a captive audience, swallowed back outrage.

Jocelyn's phaser shook once. "You used an entire race as an insurgent force, Leonard!"

McCoy exclaimed in disdain at that, but his counterpart remained unmoved. "And?" He asked, "They were likely to be wiped out, anyway, due to how primitive they were. You should know this already." He shook his head. "Frankly, Jocelyn, I'm disappointed in you. You were far from the first person to attempt to seize upon this as an opportunity to dispose of me. I thought you would use a different manner." Jocelyn said nothing, and he sighed, reaching to the side away from his pistol.

"Leonard!" She warned.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he replied, procuring a hypospray that lay behind his computer. Holding out his right wrist, he positioned the hypospray over it. McCoy's eyes widened as he realized the level of intensity that his counterpart had set it on. Injecting it would kill him. Jocelyn stopped to switch the setting of her phaser. The hypospray dropped to the floor, and Leonard seized his. He fired it, and she crumpled, lifeless, to the floor, her phaser clattering noisily. He shook his head in disgust, while his counterpart stared at her corpse, feeling as if he was about to be sick.

"Come here, sweetheart." The scarred McCoy knelt before Joanna, his hand outstretched.

The little girl, her hair slightly tangled, shrunk back against the custody officer, who held her out, as if wanted to be rid of her. Joanna shrunk further into the woman's leg. "No, don't make me go! Daddy scares me! I want my mommy!" The custody officer, however, shoved her roughly forward, allowing her father to grasp her arm in an iron grip. She began to cry, straining against him, and trying to yank herself free as he brought his other arm about her, holding her possessively to him.

Held in place as he viewed his doppelganger's memory, McCoy shook his head and cried out powerlessly, swiping his hands at the air. "No, no! Leave her alone! Joanna! Damn it, she's just a child! She's innocent!"

Time accelerated, and he saw a much older Joanna saluting the Terran symbol with a dagger sheathed at her side. McCoy's counterpart proudly clapped her on the shoulder. "That's my little girl." But it wasn't her any longer, the softness in her eyes, still existent in the first McCoy's universe during her time as a medical student, was completely gone, and replaced by something harsh, aggressive, and cold. He turned his gaze away.

Mentally, Spock seized him, and forced him to look. "If you consider yourself a good doctor, then you would try to understand."

"I understand that he turned her into a cold-blooded killer, much like you, or anyone else, for that matter, in this damned universe!" McCoy snapped, "She was born just like any of us were in my universe, frightened and alone. He twisted her mind! Why?"

"He was protecting her," Spock replied bluntly, knocking McCoy off-kilter again. Another image from his own past was yanked free of his grip for cold analysis. His darting forward to save Edith Keeler from an oncoming car, and being half-ready to hit Kirk after she collapsed, dead from the impact, Kirk holding him back. "Had he not come to claim her, she would have been conditioned as a child soldier, among other orphans. Under him, she at least had a parental figure, a luxury many children in our era lack. It isn't safe in our universe, Leonard. He was teaching her to protect herself, to kill or be killed, as it were. Had you left me to die, I would not have you in my hands at this moment."

Despite McCoy not wanting to admit it to himself, he felt jealous of his counterpart, as he had raised his daughter. "I—" He broke off and shook his head. "I couldn't—I can't accept this as a reality! I would go mad!"

Spock released him from the visual of Joanna nodding to her father, and taking his hand with a firm shake. "You would, doctor, as you do not belong here. Perhaps we were better off without you, or, for that matter, any of your kind. The only one who is suffering here is you." He shook his head at the image of McCoy hesitating before shooting the entity that had taken on the appearance of Nancy Crater. "This is not new for you, however, as you tend toward sentimentality, even when it would cost you your life."

"I don't give up on my patients," McCoy growled, "What of you, Spock? When something doesn't go your way, you torch the entire operation!" For a moment, realization dawned upon McCoy. The bitter anger that had built up within this version of Spock, set against the cold calculations of his mind, were difficult to manage. While he had ribbed, and argued with, the Spock in his own universe about his dismissal of the humanity within him, this one felt utterly off-balance to him, if not broken, trapped between the worst of both worlds, both of which had been over-emphasized by experience.

Spock raked his fingernails across his chest, and he cried out from the pain. The mental image of him, however, wavered for a moment as McCoy, despite himself, challenged, "Go ahead, make me bleed! You can take it all out upon me!" It was utterly foolish, but it didn't matter. Kirk, Uhura, and Scotty would be safe, his having wasted this Spock's time. His life didn't matter, not anymore. He had feared, for a moment, what his counterpart would have done to his Spock, or his Joanna, but even that was moot. They couldn't be harmed. And perhaps, it was that sense of contempt he felt for this Spock that threw everything out of whack. The Vulcan's eyes narrowed at him, and his nostrils flared. For a moment, fear twisted within McCoy, and he recalled exactly how physically powerful Vulcan was in comparison to a human. Unleashed upon him, it would be easy for him to be torn limb from limb. Shutting his inner eye, he silently apologized to Joanna, Spock, and Jim. The next moment, however, his eye was forced back open by his adversary, who pointed accusingly at him. McCoy cried out as he was hit with the pain he had felt over the years.

"Damn it, Leonard!" His wife screamed, slapping him across the face. She'd been furious, he'd recalled, from his being unable to get off work for her birthday. "Don't you care about anyone other than yourself?!"

"I'll see you again, won't I?" Joanna asked him, her voice watery, and tears running from her puffed-up eyes, ruining, as her mother would put it, her nice dress as she, alongside her aunt and uncle, saw him off.

Kneeling before her, McCoy wrapped his arms about her. Swallowing a few times, he replied after finding his voice again, "I promise, sweetheart." Kissing the side of her head as her much smaller arms tightly wrapped about his sides, he continued, "Be strong for me, now. I love you more than anyone in the world."

"I promise," she whispered before burying her head back in his uniform.

He clutched his father's withered hand one last time, tears spilling from his eyes. "Dad, I—I'm so sorry." His father, wheezing from the pain, gave him a slight nod. Reaching over, McCoy brought down his hand, terminating his father's life support. Standing before an open casket lid, he felt immense regret, as well as the cold stares of those in the viewing room with him.

Following were so many others. Mind-control by Landru ripping his consciousness from him…Shock and utter fear over whether he had blinded Spock, Kirk looking ready to hit him over it…Being run through by the jousting knight's blade…Being reduced to a wild, animal-like mentality after an accidental injection of cordrazine…

He collapsed under the pain as Spock, smugly, placed before him the image of Khan, murder in his eyes, and his hand wrapped around McCoy's throat. "Doctor," he stated plainly, "while I will acknowledge the fact that you are skilled in your trade, your mentality ultimately hinders you. You are, quite frankly, too soft, and easy to trample upon," McCoy winced as he felt Spock, on the physical plane, moving his hand to cup his chin in a manner that could be considered fond, "Perhaps it will not be today, but your crew will suffer because of you."

McCoy sucked in a breath of pain as Spock slammed him roughly against the bulkhead. The Vulcan's hand flew to his neck, and he squeezed, hoisting him up in the air. McCoy gasped, his hand tugging at Spock's, despite knowing it was for nothing. What did he want with him? He could easily snap his neck, and he had taken all the information he had wanted. Why prolong it? Spock's disgust with him radiated through their physical contact, and realization dawned upon McCoy as his vision began to fade to black.

Something crashed, and he was sprawled on the floor, with pieces of broken metal and glass strewn about him from a medical cart, now tilted on its side from Spock throwing him into it. Leaning forward, and bracing his palms upon his knees, McCoy coughed, and spluttered, trying to force air back into his lungs. One hand stung. Stunned, McCoy held up his hand, his vision wavering, and saw blood on it from the glass. His head was throbbing from hitting the metal, and he felt the warmth of blood beginning to seep down from the back of it. His shirt was still rolled up, exposing the bite and claw marks to the air, his pants undone.

Spock dropped his sash on his lap. "Clean yourself up, and get dressed," he ordered coldly. Folding his hands, he continued, "I can see now why my counterpart has chosen not to meld with you. You simply are a waste of time, and effort." McCoy lowered his shirt, his gaze remaining locked on Spock, who warned, "If you continue to look at me, I will have no issue with putting my thumbs in your eyes." McCoy dropped his gaze, noting the bloody handprints he left on his uniform and sash.

Led roughly by the arm, he had barely registered his surroundings. Uhura gasped at the blood on his uniform. Spock shoved him roughly over to Scotty, who grasped him by the arm, and led him away. McCoy felt relieved for a moment, but it was swallowed by numbness as he stared at this twisted version of Spock. He'd gotten everything that he had wanted, now, and frankly, Leonard just wished that he would shut up, and go away, his currently crippled mindset forcing his thoughts to be disjointed.

The hums and lights of the familiar Enterprise were relieving to him, and he had felt as if he had come home. Once again, however, it was fleeting before he fell into numbness. Spock's hand fell from the panel at the sight of his utterly dead expression. McCoy's hand flew to his neck, attempting to cover the purple marks from where Spock's counterpart had jammed his thumbs deep into them. He averted his gaze, not wanting to look at him, and, in fact, to be far from him.

The dermal regenerator hummed as it ran over his skin, slowly eliminating the scars. The door to sickbay hummed open. He glanced up, his shoulders slackening with relief. "Hey, Jim." The words sounded hollow, as if they weren't his own.

"Bones, are you—" McCoy sat down heavily in his chair, and Kirk's words died in his throat. The dermal regenerator slipped out of McCoy's fingers to thump and roll slightly upon the desk. His arms hung over the armrests of the chair in an utterly helpless gesture. Kirk's eyes widened, and McCoy appeared relieved that he didn't have to verbally recap what had happened. The next moment, however, his elbows were planted upon his desk, and his head was in his hands. He gave a heavy, shuddering sigh. Kirk's footsteps thumped over to him, and he knelt beside him. "Bones, he can't hurt you again."

A blue eye appeared from beneath McCoy's fingers, and he hissed at him, "I know that, Jim. But I can still feel it, as if he's still here with me." The eye sunk back beneath the fingers. The elbows collapsed, and he brought his head down upon his folded arms. "Please," he murmured into them, "just leave me alone."

"Not near the sharp objects," Kirk replied. Shaking him slightly when he didn't reply, he continued, "Come on, go get some rest. It's been a long day for all of us."

"If you post a guard near my room, I swear…"

"I won't," Kirk replied firmly, "but I know you."

After a pause, McCoy, his eyes closed, raised his head, and rubbed at them. "Where's Spock?"

"Taking data from Scotty and Uhura about the alternate universe."

McCoy sighed, pausing in his ministrations. "He's worried about me, isn't he?"

"Who do you think gave him the order to do so?" Kirk asked.

"Well, what do you know, he's not a machine after all," McCoy muttered. Dropping his hand to his lap, he opened his eyes, and looked at his friend. "When will I feel up to facing him again, I wonder?"

Kirk shook his head. "Don't concern yourself over that. Right now, just worry about eating something, and getting some sleep. We'll go from there. I'll be keeping an eye on your alcohol intake."

"Jim—"

"I am your commanding officer, as well as your friend," he cut him off, his voice becoming firm, "I will not have my surgeon becoming too inebriated to function. Am I making myself clear?"

"Clear," McCoy growled, snatching the dermal regenerator off his desk, and walking away, leaving Kirk to contemplate his friend's plight. His fists clenched, and he wished for not the first time to have yanked McCoy out of that sickbay, and dragged him to the transporter room.

XXXXXX

"You okay, Dad?" Joanna asked in a concerned tone of voice, leaning forward over her desk, and adjusting her camera slightly. "You look tired, and a little upset about something. You've been taking care of yourself?"

McCoy ran a hand over his face with a laugh. "Worried about your old man, Joanna? I'm all right." He'd retired to his quarters a few evenings after the universe-crossing incident to contact, and check in on her. Clad still in her scrubs from her volunteer shift, Joanna's long, brown hair was down. A plate of food sat not far from her. In the background, a poster advertising a revival performance of an old Earth rock opera stood on the wall, depicting a youth sitting in a low-lit back alley. Bags from tiredness sat under Joanna's brown eyes, causing her to more closely resemble her father.

She was less than convinced. "What's wrong?"

"Just tired, sweetheart. It's been two long years," he replied, gesturing to the stack of PADDs beside him, "These findings here are merely the tip of the iceberg."

Joanna's eyes lit up at them. "I can't wait to see what information you have! Frankly, I'm jealous. It must be amazing to encounter new worlds, and new people."

McCoy felt a slight twinge at that, recalling his ordeal in the other universe, but he was careful to hide it. "Perhaps you will one day. You're still young, Joanna. The universe is a fascinating place. Likely, you'll encounter beings that we wouldn't have yet discovered."

She looked over her shoulder with a slight smile at that. "If I ever get my feet off the ground. I don't think I can leave the hospital," she shrugged, "Too devoted to it, I guess. Wasn't expecting a committed relationship with a building, of all things."

McCoy chuckled at that, drawing back her attention. "You sound just like Jim. He's married to the Enterprise."

Joanna frowned at that, and a sadness entered her brown eyes, so much like her mother's. McCoy's heart sank as he realized that his humor had backfired. "I suppose objects are easier to rely upon than people."

McCoy shook his head, and he wondered how long this had been going on. Perhaps it always had, and never left. He regretted what his child had been exposed to under her own roof during the marriage, and more so leaving her side, being too deep into depression to the point of considering suicide. Would that rift always be between them? It hurt too much to think on it long. Knowing that he could not order her about, rather only advise her, he replied, "Joanna, you can't close yourself off from others. It isn't healthy. I only meant that Kirk is devoted to his profession as my captain. A ship can be replaced. He knows that much. If he lost the crew, however, it would break him." Joanna's eyes widened at that, and McCoy confirmed his statement by following it with silence.

She glanced away. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too," he replied sincerely, leaning back in his chair, "How's Centaurus City?"

She shrugged. "Same as always. Night life's active. Parties are wild. Don't worry, I won't be sullying the family name."

He grinned. "I don't think you'll have much to worry about. Anything that you've done, I'll have already covered."

She grinned back, but it slipped as a shadow passed over her face. "I used to always tell the other kids at school about my dad, the big hero, saving lives all throughout the galaxy. But," she paused, "why'd you call me now? Seems a bit out of the blue. Usually you write." She picked up a PADD for emphasis. "I still read over your depictions of the Twentieth Century. I find human behavior from another period interesting. So different from us." She placed it aside.

McCoy shrugged. "Haven't seen you face to face in a long time. Besides, you're my kid. I shouldn't need a reason."

Despite the nonchalance with how he had answered the question, he had the feeling that it didn't quite satisfy her. She was too clever for her own good. Joanna reached forward, and placed her hand upon the side of the screen. "Hey, I gotta get going. Early class tomorrow," she sighed, and continued, "Dad, please don't shut me out. I love you." She cut the connection from her side, and the screen went to white.

McCoy sighed, and, propping his elbow upon the desk, ran his hand over his face.


	2. Chapter 2

Matters had been complicated enough, after the trip to Vulcan.

The planet's surface heat put Georgia to shame. Standing back from the duel between Kirk and Spock, McCoy realized that Jim could very well die. Leonard felt angered that Spock never told him about pon farr, but then again, it was to be expected of him, avoiding subjects that embarrassed him. Still, he was going to have a row with him over this, as it had run the risk of terminating Spock's life. That he couldn't allow.

He glanced over at T'Pring, who surveyed the scene with detachment. Kirk's death didn't matter to her. She didn't know him. Perhaps that was what he found most loathsome about her, though confronting her about it wasn't his place. She didn't know him either. Fine, he could work with that. Had Kirk's blood not been drawn, McCoy would have considered the entire thing a farce, a fight to the death set against the formalities of Vulcan society. Being more practical than critical, however, he called Kirk over, and placed his plan into motion. When Spock was jerked back to his senses, however, McCoy couldn't quite feel relief over it. The man who had nearly chopped off Kirk's head in gladiatorial combat was the same as the man who dutifully manned his station on the bridge. There was no denying that he had existed, dwelling within him just as much as McCoy's more barbaric ancestors did, lashing out at what they did not understand.

Slamming his fist upon his desk, McCoy exclaimed, "Here's a brilliant idea, Spock! If something life-threatening is happening to you, how about you tell me?! My job is to make sure you don't end up dead!" His voice shook from anger. He figured that a vein was probably sticking out from his reddened face, but he didn't care at this point. Rather, what infuriated him further was the fact that Spock's expression didn't change during his rant, remaining impassive.

"Leonard, I had the situation under—"

"Do you honestly believe the nonsense that's coming out of your mouth?!" He snapped, holding up his fingers, "Let's review, shall we?" Ticking them off as he went along, he began, "You threw your food at Nurse Chapel. You changed the course of the ship. You nearly killed Jim." Dropping his hand, he asked, "May I inquire, in what warped reality does that sound like having the situation under control?" Spock made no reply, and McCoy's hand balled into a fist, and shook at his side. "I thought I was going to lose you, and you try, yet again, to talk down to me!"

"To be fair, you know more far about human than Vulcan behavior," Spock pointed out gently.

McCoy caught his breath, knowing that he was right. Slowly, he released his fist. "This can't go on," he tried again in a gentler tone of voice. Spock elected to say nothing once more, but the point was already made. Leonard knew that he hid things from him, as well, focusing upon their relationship as it was within the confines of the Enterprise and its mission. But this had been outside of the Enterprise. Spock held out his hand to him, and he clasped it, slowly lowering his wall for a moment, and allowing the fear to filter through to his lover. Spock's frustration with him caused him to wince, but he understood from where it had come. Spock let go, and their hands fell to their sides.

"What's to become of me, the next time you enter pon farr?" McCoy asked. Spock didn't justify the question with an answer, and McCoy grinned. "Well then, I suppose I'd best be ready for it." At Spock's less than convinced expression, McCoy added, "Come on, love, I haven't broken yet."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I get the impression that you would like to attempt to change that."

"It's part of you, much as that human half," he rolled his eyes, "that you don't like to acknowledge."

"You also tend to acknowledge it when it best suits your interests, doctor," Spock pointed out.

"At least I do," he grumbled, "That makes one of us." Opting to change the subject, as Spock was beginning to turn away form him in disinterest, he inquired, "So, your engagement, what did that make us, then?"

Spock shrugged. "I would assume that we were of a similar item as T'Pring and her lover. Now that my duty has been fulfilled, my marriage is no longer valid. I can, however, understand her preoccupations with being married to a 'living legend.' Yet, I would also mark her words as an exaggeration. Likely, I would not find a simpler existence upon Vulcan to be fulfilling."

The doctor nodded his head. "Good. I wasn't looking to become a concubine." Spock looked ready to change the subject, but McCoy stopped him with a hand. "We aren't done here."

"Is there another topic you would like to discuss?"

Leonard rubbed the back of his neck. "Frankly, I wasn't counting on being a home wrecker. Infidelity was one of the many problems my last marriage had."

"But that had not come to pass," Spock reminded him, "It was T'Pring who had decided to annul the marriage. It was out of duty and biological need that I had returned to her. Nothing more."

Spock's words made sense, in a purely objective manner. Human subjectivity wasn't to be entered into the equation. Stubbornly, the doctor remained forlorn. Ultimately, however, there wasn't anything to be done; he couldn't force Spock to change his point of view, and he had settled that with himself long ago, before their hands had first connected. McCoy sighed, his arms drawing tighter about himself. "Next time, tell me." Spock nodded at his lover, and McCoy, after a few moments of consideration, dropped it. "Oh, come here."

While the science officer wasn't rough with him, he was more insistent, tugging off McCoy's shirt. When it hit the floor, he took Leonard's left nipple in his mouth, nipping and teasing at it. Gasping, Leonard arched backward, grabbing the edge of his desk to support his weight. Spock, seizing upon his advantage, carefully shoved the doctor further onto the desk. McCoy, however, his hands freed, chose to run them over his sides, his fingers slipping under Spock's tunic. Stroking softly, he drew moans from him as he slowly worked over his skin. Spock seized the back of his head, and drew him close. McCoy kissed and licked at the side of Spock's neck. He was careful to not leave a mark on him due to Spock's preference. Still, it was hard to concentrate when Spock's hand was stroking so gently over his groin.

"Not here, we're not," McCoy growled against his neck.

"What is your reservation?" Spock's question was whispered in his ear, tempting McCoy to give in, and just let him have his way.

"I'm not cleaning off the desk," McCoy muttered.

"Understood." Leonard cried out in surprise as Spock lifted him off the desk. Reflexively, he tightened his legs about Spock's waist to keep himself from slipping off, and hitting the floor.

"Spock, what the—You pointy-eared hobgoblin, put me down!" McCoy exclaimed as he began to move away from the desk, and into the adjoining bedroom. "I have legs, you know!"

"I do, doctor. They are currently around my waist," he replied matter-of-factly, "Disentangling you would take far too long, and I can carry you."

He relented, but not without kissing him on the ear. Spock's fingers slipped on his legs at that, and McCoy smirked. "Fine, just don't make a habit of it."

XXXXXX

He had looked like his t'hy'la, but only upon the surface.

Spock, in retrospect, realized that it had sounded dismissive when he referred to the unwitting travelers from the other universe as beasts, but at the time, they acted as such, yelling and threatening violence upon the crew and himself. When their voices had at last died down from a cacophony, however, he spared this strange version of the doctor a few glances. The scars on his face were certainly odd, for one. Slumped down, and sitting slightly apart from his cell mates, each of them keeping a distance from each other, he glowered at him. "Mind not staring?" He hissed at last. Spock didn't pay him a reaction, which seemed to annoy him further. "What do you want with us?"

"For you to not attempt to injure the crew, for one," Spock replied gently, "Information would also be satisfactory."

"Go to hell."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I see little point in this discussion."

"I see little point in you eyeballing me," he responded, Spock realizing that the only reason he was speaking was mostly out of boredom. McCoy rose from the floor, and Kirk snapped at him to sit back down. "Won't make any difference, you worthless braggart!"

Kirk rose at that with a vulgar exclamation, only for Scotty and Uhura to fall upon him, taking McCoy's side. The doctor shrugged with a slight smile, as if pleased at his handiwork. "It seems you have won this round," Spock commented.

"I get some satisfaction," he answered.

"Quite an uneven way of living."

"Don't knock it 'til you tried it," McCoy replied, glancing about, "Though I doubt you would want to, since you locked me in here."

"What do you want?" Spock asked, growing tired with McCoy trying to place their exchange into recursion.

"Out, for one," he replied, and, raking his gaze over Spock that made the latter want to cover the former's eyes, added, "As for the second, you'll do for now."

"You are honest with yourself, then," he replied, "basic as your needs are."

He shrugged. "I'm a simple country doctor." Spock blinked at that, and his adversary smirked, knowing that he'd managed to score a blow on him. The Vulcan felt a moment of embarrassment at being caught off-guard, but it passed. Everything about this shell of Leonard was wrong. While his consistent arguing with him grew annoying, this was a different matter entirely. This doctor resembled a snake coiled, and ready to strike. His blue gaze was icy, lacking the warmth and gentleness Leonard's held. His voice, pitched low, and with a barely palpable drawl, bore a mocking undercurrent.

He shook his head. "Nothing about you is simple."

McCoy chuckled, and folded his arms, stepping back from the field. "My, my, you are so convinced of your own superiority." He shook his head at him. "You think yourself so complex, so much better than each of us, but in reality?" His arms dropped, and his expression hardened. "You can't live with yourself. Frankly, I don't blame you. Must be hard, pretending that there is more to you than a barely-civilized beast."

"You are the one in the cage."

"This?" McCoy held out his arms to indicate the room's entirety. "This is nothing."

Spock shrugged, and walked away. "Then we have not a thing to discuss."

"Hope he isn't fragile," McCoy called after him.

Spock kept walking.

His McCoy had grown quieter since the incident, and remained closer to sickbay. While Spock didn't much miss the doctor's cutting remarks, it disturbed him.

"Best you leave him alone for a while," Kirk commented to him quietly in the mess hall.

Spock nodded, despite an irrational part of him wishing to seek Leonard out, anyway, if only to see that he was all right. Logically, he knew that he wasn't. The doctor was clearly traumatized by the ordeal, or, more bluntly, the rape. Bringing it up to him would make it worse. Imagining his own double groping and torturing his t'hy'la had caused him to grasp onto a safety bar to keep himself from breaking something. Meditation had only done so much to stave off the images his mind conjured, however, of the doctor writhing in pain. It was his own shame that he couldn't quite put the anger away. It was better that their universes remain separate, for multiple reasons. Most importantly, Spock noted that none of his crewmates had directly interacted with their alternate selves, and perhaps that was for the best.

"What has he told you?" Spock asked, cutting his food.

Kirk rubbed his chin in an evasive manner. "Well, he was given information." Spock raised an eyebrow, and turned to him, giving him his full attention. Taking it as a signal to continue, Kirk explained, glancing down, "For as different as we are from the alternate universe, we are also quite similar. I was still captain, you were still my second-in-command, and McCoy was still a doctor."

"The same roles are played," Spock agreed.

"The relationships are complicated in different ways. Namely, that Spock and that McCoy are bonded together," Kirk explained, dropping his tone of voice out of respect for his friend. Spock laid down his fork at that, but said nothing. "He tempted McCoy with a vision of how his other self acted, in his universe."

"The doctor, naturally, was curious," he replied, glancing about, "He was given the opportunity to view a road not taken. However, you understand that McCoy would have ultimately had no choice in the matter. He would not have been ready that type of assault."

"I know," Kirk replied with an undercurrent of guilt in his tone. Taking a bite of food, and swallowing, he elaborated, "You compared the prisoners from the other universe to animals. McCoy saw himself acting in that way." Spock nodded once, and Kirk found that he didn't need to speak further on that. "Again, I wonder, how much of that is within us?'

"What is the point of that question, Captain?" Spock asked, "It is not assisting this discussion."

Kirk wasn't quite sure if Spock was chastising him for navel-gazing, or for drifting off point from a more pressing matter. Spock was clearly disturbed by what McCoy had suffered, and he understood why. He'd been careful not pry into their relationship, especially for Spock's case, but there were a few things that he could conjecture upon. Such as, for example, Spock indicating that McCoy wasn't used to a telepathic communication. He recalled the amount of damage Spock had done to the transporter room when he had attempted to incite him, and didn't wish to imagine further. "Sorry," he replied, "But there is much that he wishes to sort out."

Spock propped his elbow upon the table, and lowered his lips to his bent fingers. "Alone, I would imagine." Kirk nodded. After a few moments, Spock replied, "Jim, I have only one request to make, then." His dark eyes met his, and Kirk nodded. "If he is in danger, please, tell me."

"I will."

The weeks flew by, filled with typical work-related functions. Life went slowly on. Though the concern for Leonard remained in the back of Spock's mind, it was placed second to his duty. Still, it was jarring not to see him as often, his having grown so used to his appearance. Spock, despite himself, feared that this would become the new norm. It did creep upon him, alone in his quarters, until he willed it away. Leonard would not leave so quickly.

Sitting in the arboretum, Spock was hunched over a PADD, looking over a report given to him by an ensign a few hours prior.

"This seat taken?"

Spock glanced up from his PADD to see McCoy standing before him, his hands at his sides. He appeared to have regained a shade of his former self, his expression less vacant, though still distant. "I do not see anyone sitting here," Spock replied with a shrug. McCoy stepped slowly over, and, his hand upon the seat, as if steadying himself, sat down a decent distance from Spock. It was enough to comfortably hold two people between them. It wrenched at him to see him reduced like this. However, he knew that he could not reach out to him. The space between them was not to be breached for the moment.

"Was it a long day, doctor?" Spock inquired.

McCoy nodded, and rubbed at his eyes. "Jim's not letting me drink as much."

"My condolences," Spock replied. McCoy's birthday had only been a few months after they had gotten together. Spock had presented him with a bottle of whiskey for it, and his lover, after drinking a couple of glasses, had kissed him in a rather slobbery fashion. He'd accidentally broken one of McCoy's glasses after the doctor had nibbled on his ears, but he hadn't much minded. He'd come to associate whiskey with Leonard's lips for a while after.

"Glad to see the rest of the ship hasn't changed," McCoy commented. Spock was about to remark on the outlandishness of the doctor's comment until he realized that it was more a comment upon McCoy, himself, and his not straying far from sickbay, as of late.

"Of course not," Spock replied, "You are within it once more."

McCoy turned his head at that, and Spock nodded to him. "Never took you for a sentimentalist," he commented.

"Pity that, then," Spock commented, "That was my attempt toward practicing comedy."

McCoy snorted. "Don't quit your day job." Spock gave him a slight smirk, and lifted his PADD to continue his work, keeping the doctor in the corner of his vision. The doctor made no comment, and Spock was not quite sure if that was concerning. However, he didn't get up, and he could feel his eyes on him from time to time.

A half hour later, McCoy stood. "I'd better be off."

Spock raised his head. "Will you sit with me again?"

He turned back to look at him. "If I have time, then sure. It's not like we're on vacation, Spock."

"Understandable," he replied, allowing Leonard to walk away. Despite how off-handed he was being, it was a start.

Spock didn't spend time with him again for close to a fortnight after, though he did often see McCoy speaking with Nurse Chapel. From what he could overhear, it was work-related, and his vocal tone was becoming stronger, his voice more confident-sounding.

He was practicing upon his ka'athyra when the door to his quarters chimed. "Enter!" Spock called, setting it aside.

Christine Chapel walked in, a PADD in her hand. It was a strange sort of intimacy that he shared with her, he noted, given the torch she carried for him. She was, after all, one of the few to truly see him suffering from pon farr. She was not without integrity, however, stepping aside upon noticing that it was her co-worker who Spock deeply cared for. He appreciated that in her. Despite that, there was always a general sense of her being troubled whenever she spoke with him in private. "Could I ask you a few questions?" She inquired.

He nodded his head. "I will answer them to the best of my ability. Please," he gestured to a chair, and she sat down upon it.

"Thank you." Gazing aside, she began, "I understand that there are matters within Vulcan culture that are to be kept private from outsiders, so I will preface this with the fact that I am not willing to force you to answer a question. If I'm offending you, I'll leave."

"Understood, nurse."

She placed her hand to the side of her head, her fingers twining in her blonde hair, and he knew exactly what subject matter she was inquiring about. She kneaded her lip as she attempted to find a way to phrase it euphemistically, and Spock partly wished that she would get on with it. "What was forced upon Dr. McCoy, does it leave an imprint?" She asked quietly.

Spock drew his hands back upon himself for a moment, and she looked worried, however he stilled it. "Not in that case, and for more than one reason. One of which you have just listed: it was forced."

"Slavery and forced matrimony have been common among human and non-human cultures, Mr. Spock," she pointed out. Upon seeing the flicker of unhappiness in his eyes, however, she realized that he had considered that factor already. She smiled sheepishly at stating the obvious.

Dropping his voice, he added, "We were lucky that he was not in pon farr."

Nurse Chapel winced, and nodded. She folded and unfolded her hands. "Do you think he would have desired to keep Leonard—Dr. McCoy there?"

Recalling the hungered look McCoy's double had given him, he replied, "Likely, yes. Hence, it is better that the door is shut."

"Why does that universe desire this one, to damage it?" She asked, leaning forward. "What would be the point of it?"

He shook his head. "Exploitation."

She rubbed at her eye. "This was a crime. Is it punishable by law, upon Vulcan? Did it happen often enough to be considered so?"

"Recall how you saw me, in this room. You should have your answer there. But, remember, the law of this Vulcan is void on that one."

"The prime directive," she muttered, "The Captain broke that, though, by trying to reason with you—with him. I'm beginning to wonder if that was truly the right thing to do."

"We are past that point," he gently admonished.

"I know," she replied firmly. Her face softening, she concluded, "Those were my questions, Mr. Spock. Thank you for taking the time to answer them. I've brought something for you." She held out the PADD to him, and he rose to take it. His eyes widened for a moment at the picture of himself with a goatee. "This is the file of your alternate self. Dr. McCoy composed it, and I edited it. You can view my notes in the back, as well as the original drafts. It's very lightweight, however."

"Does Dr. McCoy know that you are giving me this?" He asked.

She nodded, rising as well to see herself out. Spock sat down, and carefully scrolled through the PADD. It was sparse, with most information focusing upon the alternate Spock's rank and physical, as well as mental abilities, the notes by the human doctor and nurse barely scraping the surface. Also noted were his opinion on his crewmates, which was less than stellar, and his recent exploits, which included terrorizing the away team. He seemed like an exaggerated villain, and that wasn't quite far off, if the four from the alternate universe were evidence. His bond with the alternate McCoy was listed under marital status. The notes in the back, however, gave him pause. Nurse Chapel had edited several parts of it for grammatical issues, causing him to wonder if perhaps McCoy had been having trouble drawing up the report. However, he did not find more detailed notes upon the incident. Nevertheless, it unsettled him to see this thing that wore a skin like his.

McCoy came to him again within the ship's rec room. Spock had the chess set out, and currently had the computer in check. Glancing up, he gestured for the doctor to sit down. "Why still play against the computer?" He asked, "You've beaten it several times before."

The computer manipulated its bishop, and knocked over Spock's knight with a resounding thump. "Perhaps for the entertainment of it," he replied, "As you can well attest, it is easy to take pleasure in one's being right."

McCoy's eyes flicked from the board to him at that, and Spock raised his hand slightly off the table to indicate that it was in good humor. The doctor chose to place himself upon the edge of the table, overlooking the entire game. Picking up his queen, Spock placed it beside the computer's king. "Checkmate."

With something akin to pride in McCoy's eyes, he folded his arms, and shook his head with a slight smile. While it did occur to Spock to say something, he allowed McCoy to take the lead on it. "What's the challenge tonight?"

"Two out of three," he replied, beginning to clear off the three-tiered board, "The computer lost the second round."

McCoy tilted his head. "You sure it's not set on easy?"

Knowing that he was just trying to get a rise out of him, Spock tilted the screen to show him the chosen setting. "If I wanted easy mode, I would play against you."

"Oh, cute. I'll remember that when I'm reconnecting both hemispheres of your brain," he quipped. Spock quietly noted that the joke involved the brain, but chose not to think further on it.

"Unlikely, doctor. That would infer my placing myself in that situation."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Considering half of your complaints, being among humans is slowly causing that."

"Your words, not mine."

McCoy raised an eyebrow, knowing that he'd lost that round. Background chatter sounded, along with drinks hitting tables. A few ensigns danced together, with two red-shirted men waltzing in the center of the floor. Jennings and Alotsky, Spock recalled, were going to be married off-ship during the upcoming shore leave.

"Nurse Chapel, she gave you the report?" He asked softly. Spock nodded, and he looked away. "Not my finest work, unfortunately, but I suppose it'll serve some purpose."

"If you desire for collaboration on the subject, I will add what I can," he offered.

"Not at this moment, but I might take you up on it in the future." He placed a hand to his face, and rubbed at his temples.

Recalling Nurse Chapel's questions, Spock asked, trying to keep his question as innocuous as possible, "Are you experiencing headaches?"

He dropped his hand to his lap, and Spock knew that he had seen right through him. "No, it's not that, it's just…" His voice trailed off, and he looked away, taking a breath as he gathered himself, "It's like a shadow over me, even now. His hand, his mind…When it's you, I feel you, even after. It's comforting. But with him, it's like constantly having a knife, just beside my head. Forget it's there, and the memory pierces me." He tilted his head. "Am I making sense?" Spock nodded. He felt affection for McCoy, upon realizing that he saw him in such a way, but overruling it was a concern that he was still on tenterhooks. Leonard shook his head. "It's not related to racial difference, Spock. Humans can be just as disgusting."

Spock folded his hands. "Not upon the mental plane yet, doctor. Humans are not telepathic."

"That doesn't matter," he replied sharply, "You could kill me if you wanted to, Spock, and heaven knows I've probably given you reason to want to."

He shook his head. "Doctor, you do not have to force yourself to agree to any part of my being." McCoy paused, and Spock explained, "You already have me. That will not change." The disbelief that flickered over McCoy's face disheartened him, though he figured it had less to do with the incident, and more to do with Leonard's past, as similar proclamations he had made to him before had met with it. He didn't press him, and, in the meantime, he proved his oath by not breaking it.

McCoy broke their shared silence with a yawn. "I think I should turn in." Slipping off the table, he moved to walk away.

Spock rose. "May I accompany you?"

Nodding, he walked alongside him down the corridor. Leaning against the wall of the lift, he looked more relaxed, Spock noted. The lift paused upon McCoy's deck. Stepping out, the doctor joked, "Walking me home? Quite gentlemanly of you." Stopping before the open door to his quarters, he turned his head to look over his shoulder. "What's wrong, Spock?'

Admittedly, it was a foolish-sounding question, but Spock understood its underlying meaning. Keeping his hands folded behind his back, and out of the way, he began, "Doctor—"

"Love, it's all right. You don't have to be formal with me," he gestured for Spock to enter behind him.

Spock physically relaxed, and followed him inside. McCoy's room appeared to be the same as he had last seen it, though the doctor kept him close to the threshold. He tempered his relief. "Do you still wish to continue together?"

"Yes," he replied warmly. His gaze was faraway as he continued, "It just concerns me." Spock did not need to ask what. McCoy sighed, and knew that his doubt and confusion were beginning to show. "I have had a hard time with the concept of sharing a mind. Now…" His voice trailed off.

"Whatever you want, you may have," Spock replied gently, "I only ask to be by your side."

McCoy slowly smiled at him. "All right, I'll think about it." Spock nodded to him, and departed. Heading off down the corridor, Spock knew that he could very well have had an easier time of it, had he been involved with a Vulcan. Perhaps, in more ways than one, he was his father's son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more interesting part of this chapter was writing McCoy's alternate self. Considering that DeForest Kelley played mostly villains in his western-styled work, I tapped into that when writing the mirror version of McCoy. I think Christine, while not affiliated with Spock romantically, would be good friends with him.
> 
> I have trouble writing Spock.


	3. Chapter 3

"Captain, I'm picking up a distress call." Uhura raised her head from her console, and turned to look at Kirk. "It's faint, but consistently repeating."

"Origin?" Kirk inquired.

Uhura shook her head. "Unknown, sir."

While Kirk had misgivings over it, he weighed them against his own curiosity. Ignoring it would run the risk of allowing lives to be lost, but answering it could put the crew at risk. However, there would also be an opportunity lost to investigate another planet. "Helm, take us toward the signal."

"Aye, sir," Sulu responded.

The planet before them stood a dusky brown. Spock, when prompted by Kirk, replied, "The planet is Class M, currently uncharted. I am detecting minimal life signs."

"No signals, barring the distress signal," Uhura reported.

Kirk narrowed his eyes at that. "Planetary scan."

"Scanning," Spock replied, his eyes narrowing at the results. Glancing up, he reported, "Detecting a large, unidentified ship on the surface. The planet's surface seems to be dotted with small villages, but mostly is sparse. The planet also seems to have a subterranean network, but is showing no activity. Above ground, the biome is largely desert, with consistent winds. The planet itself orbits a red dwarf star."

Rising from his chair, Kirk began, "We'll take down a landing party to investigate. Scotty, Spock, Chekov, you're with me. Inform Dr. McCoy that he is needed in the transporter room. Mr. Sulu, standard orbit."

"Aye, sir."

"Any advice for me?" Chekov asked as he rose from his sheet.

Sulu shrugged. "Try not to conk your head." Chekov swatted him on the shoulder, and Sulu laughed as he walked away.

The ship, Kirk thought shortly after beaming down, seemed to be plunked in the middle of nowhere. Desert stretched off into the distance, with the crashed ship sticking out of the dunes. The village bore a few miles to the south.

Turning, the wind buffeting his hair, he ordered, "We'll split into two groups. Scotty, you'll lead the first group to investigate the ship. Report any findings." The engineer nodded at that. "Mr. Spock, the second group. You'll investigate the subterranean level."

"Aye, captain."

"Dr. McCoy, you're with me."

At Spock's hand gesture, Chekov and the other crewmen fell into line behind them, arms raised to block out the sand that was being blown about them. The village rose slowly into being as they gained distance on it, and was surrounded by a sandstone wall. A curved archway rose above it. The dwellings appeared no higher than a single story. Stairs, indicated by a sign of a language that consisted of twists and curves, and not much else, descended below ground. No one came into the town square to greet them. Chekov took care to snap a holophoto of the sign to take back to Uhura.

The dwellings lacked doors, merely being doorways that opened onto the streets and alleys. Pots were tipped over, and broken, displaying nothing. Baskets that had rotted clean through lay upon the floor. Bugs flitted over dried remains of plants. Bedframes stood empty. Shapes that could be construed as writing were impossible to determine, being worn away by time.

"Looks like everyone picked up, and left," Chekov commented, "No clothing, no blankets, nothing."

Spock's tricorder hummed as he took readings. "They would not have left recently, Mr. Chekov."

Chekov turned, and walked down a side alley. He stopped at the threshold of a doorway, and peeked in. He gasped at what he found inside. The body was sprawled upon the floor of the dwelling, an angular object lying a distance off. Rust-colored spots covered the area about it, whatever remained of the figure's head blown to chunks that lay scattered about the floor. Chekov, feeling a chill racing down his spine, turned the opposite direction, and darted off, calling out to Spock.

Kneeling beside the fallen figure, Spock ran the tricorder over it. "He appears to have died two centuries ago." The object Chekov had glimpsed was now revealed as a weapon, its barrel pointed outward. The humanoid's head, from what the scanner could identify, had been elongated and domed, causing the shot to burst the skull's top across the floor. Scanning the weapon for fingerprints would have been pointless, the amount of time slipping by having eroded them away. Chekov was cleaning the weapon off with a cloth outside. Holding it up to the light, he tried to identify the strange, swirling and elongated symbols, or what little remained of them, engraved along the barrel.

Spock glanced to the side, and stood before walking over. He lifted a long piece of wood, petrified from long-term exposure to the arid air, and held it out in one hand, while the tricorder in the other indicated that the body had been suffering from advanced osteoporosis. Releasing what was presumably the humanoid's cane, Spock noted that the upward trajectory of the shot indicated most likely that it had been a suicide.

Shielding his eyes from the rays of the red dwarf sun the planet orbited, Spock stepped back through the doorway. Chekov held out the object to him. "Sorry sir, I couldn't decipher it further past this sign." He tapped at the sideways figure eight. The gun's barrel was so badly filled by sand and debris that it could no longer fire. Spock gently took it from him. Heading back into the dwelling, he placed it beside the corpse.

Exiting the dwelling, he declared, "Mr. Chekov, inform the others that we will be descending below the surface."

XXXXXX

"What a mess," one of the crewmen commented, the wind snatching his words away.

Towering over Kirk was the cylindrical ship, with three letters that he could not understand, a hyphen, and the digits "58" emblazoned upon its white surface, now darkened by sand. The door to the ship stood open, a gangplank dropped. Scotty was carefully leading two crewmates through it. Strewn about the ship were four bodies with long, black hair, black uniforms, and cat-like bodies.

McCoy shook his head, and stood from where he was inspecting the last body, a male with long hair, his amber eyes staring at nothing. Walking over to Kirk, he explained in a bitter tone, "They killed each other. The male," he pointed down at final body he had inspected, "killed the other male with his sword." He indicated where it was sticking out of another male's body. "The two females," he gestured to where they were lying against the side of the ship, "Shot each other." He placed the medical scanner away. "My question is why. What could drive them to do that to themselves?"

"We'll find out soon enough," Kirk replied, despite his stomach dropping as he headed up the gangplank, "Stay close to me, Bones."

McCoy scrubbed at the dust in his eyes as he passed through the doorway, and into the darkness. Red light, most likely from the ship's emergency power, shone down at them. "Getting a little protective of me, aren't you, Jim?" Kirk turned his head at that, and met his friend's annoyed expression.

"You just inspected four corpses."

Leaning back against a side wall, McCoy propped his foot against it. "That's it? Jim, I've known you for how long? You can't very well lie to me." His eyes narrowed. "Let me guess, it's about what happened to me during the transporter accident."

"Bones," he replied evenly, "this is your first away mission since then, and you haven't been yourself. I'm concerned."

"There's a difference between being concerned, and pitying me," McCoy hissed, drawing in more tightly upon himself, "I don't like what side you're leaning toward."

Kirk shrugged. "All right, fine. You can run after Scotty, if you want. He probably hasn't gone far."

McCoy sighed, and dropped his foot, straightening himself up. "You've made your point. I'll stay. Thanks, anyway."

XXXXXX

One of the crewmen beside Scotty coughed, a cloth covering his mouth and nose. A cat-like man hung backward over the stairwell, his mouth parted and features hard in a feral snarl.

"Don't get too close, lad," Scotty replied, holding his arm out behind him, and drawing him away from the corpse, "We don't know if he was sick."

"Sir?" A crewwoman gestured to a large rectangular impression in the floor, "What do you make of this?"

Leading the crewman down to the bottom floor, Scotty walked over to a control panel, covered in an array of buttons and directions, the latter of which was in a language he could not decipher. A small valve was on the panel. He tapped the valve. "It seems as if there was a cargo pod here, that been jettisoned. But why would they do that, if the ship was crashing?" He glanced around and saw other crates, still sealed.

A banging sounded down the hall, which drew them on edge.

"What is that?" The crewwoman muttered.

"We'll find out in a few moments," he replied, leading them down a set of service stairs, and into engineering, where the banging was the loudest. Turning the corner, Scotty nearly broke out laughing. It was only a malfunctioning service shutter that had been left on. An orange, blinking light caught his attention, and he walked over to a cone, standing straight up in the middle of a circular control panel, that was emitting from it. "And that would be our distress signal."

XXXXXX

Red light bathed McCoy's form just ahead of Kirk, the shadows giving his friend a sinister silhouette. The ship appeared to be a bare bones freighter, holding four levels, and one lower deck. Crew quarters were located on the second floor. Bodies were strewn about in the crew quarters, bearing wounds from phaser fire and blades. McCoy quietly covered the bodies in the quarters with sheets from the beds, noting bitterly how several of the crewmen looked to be little older than adolescents.

Kirk walked quietly on, and came to doorway, its metal doors half closed in on themselves. Slipping through it, he saw several overturned tables and chairs. A doorway opened to the back right of the room, and he could see the metallic form of a rectangle standing up just behind it. Presumably, he decided, it was a pantry. He could hear a rustling from beyond, and carefully set his phaser to stun. Footsteps sounded from behind him, and he turned to see McCoy slipping through the doors behind him. He raised a finger to his lips, and McCoy nodded, adjusting his phaser setting accordingly. Keeping his hip against the wall, Kirk slunk alongside it. Holding his breath, he snuck into the pantry. Pausing, he felt the color draining from his face.

A female cat-like figure, her uniform bearing two gold bars across the shoulders, was hunched over a pile of bloodied meat and bone. Feathers flew. Her uniform and mouth were stained with it, her hair clumped from the blood getting into it. Her stomach was slightly distended from gorging herself on the meat. Her claws skewered the meat, the stripes across her face emphasizing the glassy look in her eyes. Her ears were turned toward them. Bearing her fangs in a snarl, she hissed, "Get your own!"

McCoy slowly took a step forward. "Easy, we're only here to help."

She dropped the meat, and jumped backwards, drawing her phaser in a rapid movement. Something clanked to the floor, and, tilting his head, Kirk realized that she'd dropped her sword. "Get away from me, you freak!" She snapped. Her eyes flicked up at the ceiling for a moment.

McCoy backed up slowly, Kirk doing so as well, each with a hand near their sides. Attempting to stun her wouldn't work, as she appeared too scared. The woman growled at them, and pointed at the doorway. "Out!" They paused at the back wall. "Are you deaf?! OUT!"

Silence stood between them, and she panted, catching her breath. Kirk slowly spoke. "We received your distress signal, and came to assist. I'm Captain James T. Kirk of the United Federation of Planets."

"This world is uninhabited!" She hissed, her ear twitching, rising to a knock-kneed pose, her phaser upheld as she swung her gaze from side to side. "Who sent you? Was it Empress Talia? Dr. Yae?"

"Neither," Kirk replied, slipping into a conjured role, "We're here on a relief mission. The Federation has been attempting to negotiate trade with your empire. We are merely attempting to extend an olive branch."

"I see," she replied, straightening up and elongating the phrase, "Very interesting, captain. And, he is?" She gestured to McCoy with her phaser.

"Dr. Leonard McCoy, ship's surgeon," he replied, "If you'd put the phaser down, I'd be happy to help you."

In a condescending tone, she replied, "A doctor, how useful. You don't even know how my body works." She turned her attention back to Kirk. "Captain to captain, sir, don't trust doctors. They may seem to be benevolent, but they are given too much free reign to question a captain's orders."

McCoy's nostrils flared at that, and Kirk covered for him. "Captain? What is your name?"

"Keema," she replied, shaking her head, "I see no need for these other names you give yourself, Captain James. It seems a needless overcomplication. Tell me, how long has this distress signal been transmitting?"

"You don't know?" McCoy asked skeptically.

"Quiet, please, Dr. Leonard," she replied in annoyance, "The captains are speaking right now."

McCoy's hand twitched at his side, and Kirk muttered warningly, "Bones."

Keema's eyebrow raised. "Bones? He has another name? I don't understand."

Rather than answer her question, he replied, "We don't know. We happened upon it. Captain, are your crew well?"

She shook her head. "Killed in the crash, I'm afraid. Will you leave me marooned, here, Captain James?"

"No, actually. We offer you free passage, and medical attention," he replied, "Your empress has been looking for you."

She licked her lips. "Has she, now?" She shrugged. "Perhaps she has had a change of heart. Very well, I shall leave with you. You will find my logs and ship's manifesto in my cabin upon the top floor, Captain James. I assume Dr. Bones can take me back to your ship?"

"Would it be better if I escorted you?" Kirk replied, placing his hand to his chest, and winking at her, "As your favor clearly seems to be toward me."

She smiled, and bowed her head. "Very well, then. I prefer it, as you keep Dr. Bones in his place." McCoy barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Stepping toward him, Keema turned her head toward McCoy. "Do be careful with my things, doctor, and please, understand," her eyes narrowed, "it wasn't my fault."

"Bones, look out!" Kirk cried.

McCoy ducked with an arm over his head as, with a feral scream, Keema jumped, and latched onto the light fixture overhead. Swinging, she kicked out at him. McCoy rolled as Keema sprung to the floor, her claws scraping along the metal. Kirk fired his phaser, the ray striking the open door as she darted away from it, and sprinted off through the mess hall. McCoy rose, and followed Kirk out, only for the two of them to dive and roll as Keema, with a grunt, threw a table at them. It careened to a stop, its legs sticking up in the air. Keema slid out from between the doors.

Darting forward, Kirk waved an arm behind himself. "I'll take right, you'll go left! We'll head her off!" McCoy nodded, and sped off. Keema's dark hair flew behind her as McCoy ran after her. Turning her head to look over her shoulder, she swung it back with a curse upon glimpsing McCoy's form. She fired backward, sending one of the corpses McCoy had covered in the corridor rolling toward him. He leapt over it, his foot catching and causing him to stumble. Swinging about the staircase, Keema pounded up the stairs.

On the opposite end of the corridor, Kirk was brought to a halt with several chairs and a bunk arranged against the stairs as a barricade. Mumbling under his breath, he seized and shoved the furniture aside. His communicator went off, and he snatched it from his belt, grunting out, "Kirk, here!"

"Scott, here, sir! We found the distress beacon!"

"I'm a little busy right now, Scotty! Shut it down, and come up!" He barely registered Scotty's confirmation of the order before flipping it back closed.

Clearing the top of the stairs, McCoy stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Keema, seated upon a medical bed, one of a few arranged across the corridor. Her phaser was pointed right at him. "One more move, Doctor Bones," she cautioned. McCoy held out his arms, indicating that he meant no harm. "Good, now, who or what are you, really?"

"Explorers," he replied simply, "nothing more."

"I see," her eyes flicked away from him, "Did it occur to you that maybe some of us don't want to be found?"

"Does it matter?" He asked evenly. "You don't seem well. I just want to help you."

She shook her head. "Dr. Yae said the same thing. As did Dr. Kumar. They both met unhappy fates. So, to 'help' me, will you dissect me?"

McCoy shook his head. "That's inhumane. I can diagnose you here, if you're more comfortable."

"You reach for any of your instruments, and I will shoot," she replied, "Yes, I see it in you. You are as naïve as Dr. Yae." She lowered her head. "My friend, my dear friend. That last image of her, eyes wide and blue tongue hanging out, it disturbs my sleep." He felt a chill race down his spine as she swallowed, her hand patting the bed beneath her. She stared out over the expanse below. "I hung her from that bar, as a warning to the others. She comes to me, again and again, a ghost."

McCoy knelt to the floor. "Keema," he began gently, "let's talk."

She sighed. "I want to, but there isn't anything to say. Your Captain James and you saw it all."

He shook his head. "Not everything."

She closed her eyes, and took a breath. When she opened them, he could see tears falling from them. "I—" She swallowed to regain her voice, "I had no choice. We were being sent to a dead planet, and this awful plague was killing our passengers. What could I have done? My own empire, whom I had served in two consecutive wars, had turned its back on me. I was left with repurposed criminals, vagrants, and orphans, thrown away like trash. Yae, she was the only friend I had, and—" She choked, gripping her phaser tightly. "I killed her. I did such a horrible thing." She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. "No one cares about me, or my crew. I want to go home, to Iklos, but no one will accept me again."

"You can come with us," McCoy offered.

"I'm a mass murderer," she replied hollowly, dropping her hand from her face, "No one will give me a home. It's what I deserve."

McCoy swallowed. Where was Kirk? "You'll be cared for. We'll rehabilitate you."

"You won't," she squeaked, "You'll repurpose me. Your Captain James said that your Federation wished to be friends with the Iklosian Empire. I would just be a nuisance."

Shit.

Keema stood from the bed, and started toward him. McCoy froze. "Doctor," she shook her head, her voice growing cold, "I truly wish that you hadn't appeared. Now, I'll have to kill you, too."

McCoy shrunk backward as she advanced upon him, the heels of her boots clacking. Footsteps clanged over to them. "Bones!" Kirk grunted as he ran into one of the beds.

Keema spun, and with a cry of disdain, darted to the side rail. McCoy sprung up, phaser in hand, but wasn't quick enough. Keema sprung off the edge, her heel catching on the rail. With a gasp of surprise, her trajectory broken, she fell two stories to the floor below with a sickening crunch. McCoy seized the edge of the rail, and stared down as those amber eyes blinked. A disquieting rattle sounded from her mouth.

Wordlessly, McCoy spun away from the rail, and ran for the stairs, sliding down the railing to save time. Kirk stared as McCoy's head bobbed beneath him before at last the doctor emerged below. Each rattle torn from Keema's throat seemed to reach into his core. McCoy knelt before her, and tugged out his medical scanner, running it hastily over her body. Settling upon her chest, he stopped, and immediately began to apply pressure, lifting her head slightly to breathe into it. Lowering his head in supplication, he shook it before staring up at Kirk. Voices sounded, and boots thumped as Scotty and the others emerged from the lower level.

Kirk gestured for him to come back up the stairs, and headed for the top floor. Keema's cabin was an utter mess, with papers, books, and figurines dumped everywhere. The computer's monitor had a hole shaped like a fist in it. On the desk were a few PADDs. A broken holophoto lay beside it, and Kirk sighed at the image of Keema kissing another female, whose hair was cut in a bob, on the cheek affectionately. Sorting through the PADDs, he found the video logs, paused with a still of Keema staring into her viewer, and a few others he couldn't decipher. The manifest was likely among them, as were personnel files.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and he nodded at McCoy, who stood in the doorway. "Jim," he began, with a shake of his head, "You need to be careful, how much you lie."

Kirk's face slowly fell. His communicator broke the silence. Flipping it open, he greeted, "Kirk, here."

"Captain," Spock's words were distorted, "We have located something in the subterranean levels that you would find interesting. Is Dr. McCoy with you?"

"Yes," he replied, watching McCoy look around the room, "he is."

"Please bring him with you. We are about five miles in underground. No life signs detected. Any further information required?"

Kirk's heart sank. "At the moment, no."

"Spock out."

"Bones," McCoy glanced up, "You're coming with me. From the sound of it, you'll be conducting another autopsy."

Nodding solemnly, he rose to follow.

The subterranean tunnel was open, and arid, as well, the sounds of their footsteps echoing over the pipes, and, despite himself, putting McCoy's sensors on high alert. Ancient piping systems towered over them. Electrical circuits, long frayed and shorted, dangled like snakes from the ceiling. Scotty and the others commented on them to pass the time, their boots dislodging stones. Recesses from erosion, leaks, and possibly accidents appeared every so often, along with faded signs in an undecipherable alphabet. Doorways, the doors having long since collapsed to the floor, revealed darkness.

A fissure yawned out from the floor, the darkness wide. Scotty experimentally picked up a loose stone, and tossed it in. McCoy shook his head. "Mm-mm. Didn't hear it bang against anything."

Kirk glanced over to a long, gray bridge. It was wide enough to fit two magnetic trains, side by side. Handrails, rusted by time, stood on either end, but would not be needed. Had it not been for pale white lights in the distance, the bridge would have been unseen. Voices, Spock's among them, drifted over to them. Something stood dark against the lights, blocking a good portion of them, and mottling shadows on the bridge. Whatever it was, it was big. "Up and over, then," Kirk decided.

As the hulking mass drew closer, McCoy's step faltered. He caught and corrected himself immediately. Spock was turned away from them in the light as other crewmen walked by. He turned slowly about, and nodded, his arms behind his back. "Captain, Doctor. Please," he gestured for them to come forward, "The machine before you is completely powered down. It will not harm you. It seems the only power is being supplied to these lights."

Still, the colossus was intimidating. Hexagonal in shape, it towered high, dark panels and multiple windows standing out, massive buttons and interlocking girders, and, at last, multiple arms that stretched above it into darkness from their angle. Stepping about it, Kirk glanced up, and faltered backwards in shock. McCoy darted over, and gasped, glancing about frantically as he took the vision in, and attempted to process what his mind was being bombarded with. His one hand snatched at air for a few moments until another hand clasped it, and held it fast, comfort whispering to him through the touch.

Suspended in the machine's many arms high above were bodies, with wires and tubing hooked into them. They had long since died, having rotted to skeletons that displayed cone-shaped heads. Widened hips, ribcages, and shoulders registered to him immediately that some corpses were male, others female, with smaller corpses indicating, much to his sadness, children. Most disturbing, however, were what lay beneath the ribcages. Green and blue glowed from artificial organs that rested within them, as if their internal organs had been stripped completely out. Tubing was connected to their nostrils, mouths, and evacuative tracts. "They were-" he swallowed to reclaim his voice, "—completely dependent upon the machine."

"Exactly, doctor," Spock slackened his grip upon McCoy's hand, allowing him to pull it loose. Turning to more fully look at him, he felt annoyance at Spock's dispassionate tone as he reported, "The machine, however, seems to have been shut off."

"Thank you for stating the obvious," McCoy huffed, stalking away. Chekov, a holocamera slung about his neck, indicated a tall, metal staircase to a platform set next to one of the suspended corpses. Seizing the railing, he carefully made his way up, his boots clanging against the metal.

Spock stared after him, and walked to stand parallel with the staircase. While he and the crew had tested the integrity of that staircase, and found it to be satisfactory, he still felt an irrational need to be protective of him. Should Leonard fall, he would be able to catch him.

"What were you able to determine about the computer?" Kirk inquired, walking up to stand beside him.

"Unfortunately, very little." Spock folded his arms, wincing as McCoy's right ankle rolled. Swearing, the doctor caught himself.

"Hey, Bones!" Kirk called, "Quit trying to scare us!"

"Just trying to make sure you're still awake down there, Jim!" McCoy replied cheekily before continuing up.

Spock continued, "The computer was rusted shut, but we did manage to peel one side of it slightly off with phaser fire," he gestured over to where a few crewmen were inspecting an empty mass of nodes and dials that bore a resemblance to a beehive. "However, we found mostly dust and dirt. The machine was completely unresponsive."

"What's giving the lights power?" Kirk inquired.

Spock pointed to a black cube. "That portable generator. The light fixtures are new, it seems, and we've uncovered footprints. However, they don't correspond with what I can only assume are the natives of this planet." Pointing up, he explained, "Their feet are thin, and slope slightly upward. They also have six toes, with the sixth seeming to be completely auxiliary, as it would lift slightly off the ground. The footprints are three-toed, all three of which are spaced widely apart."

"Three toes, or two fingers with an opposable thumb," Kirk theorized, and Spock nodded. "How fresh?"

"Very old. So that only Crewman Liu found them while we were attempting to break into the machine. Stranger still," his eyes narrowed, "the footprints seemed to be going directly into the fissure. We didn't find any others leading in or out from the other side, and none leading out from this side."

Kirk steeled himself before looking up again. "How many are up there, Spock?"

"Forty in all. Some," he indicated a skeleton whose bottom half was missing, its synthetic organs a collapsed heap upon the circular platform directly beneath the corpse itself, "have since fallen apart."

Kirk grimaced at the odd-colored stains upon the floor. "And those?"

"Expulsion," Spock answered.

Kirk grimaced. "Should've known."

At the top of the platform, McCoy took out his scanner, and carefully braced his weight upon the outer bar of the supporting platform. The corpse stood outward from it by a few meters, far enough that if he leaned forward enough, he could easily fall over the edge. His medical scanner hummed quietly. Judging by the width of the hips, the corpse was female. Her mouth was stretched wide open to allow for the tube to enter. Her internal organs had been completely overhauled, though, from what he could tell from the shapes of them, they were vastly different from a human's. Her body seemed to have three hearts, for one, with dials attached to each, most likely pacemakers that had long since shut off. Her bladder was much smaller than a human's, while her lungs were bunched close together. The system was completely dry of all fluid. "Hope you died in your sleep, miss," he muttered.

The scanner revealed to him that she had died 175 years prior, and McCoy stared quietly at the reader. Perhaps others of their race had still existed, and operated the machine. But then, who took care of the machine? Was it a sentient artificial intelligence? What shut it off? Did it shut itself off? Why were there no records of anything? Why was this project begun? Much to his horror, he found that the inorganic organs were around 300 years old, while the corpse itself was 450. Over half of her existence hooked into this, this thing. He could not imagine it. Had someone been worried about her? Did anyone even care?

A glint caught his eye, and McCoy tilted his head. A string of black beadwork, broken, the remaining four beads balanced on her rib cage. Her right wrist was tilted at an awkward angle, with a piece of thread trailing off it. He scowled in disgust. A graverobber, presumably, defiling her grave for profit. Kneeling, he stared at the base of her own platform, his eyes widening to allow in more light, and more easily register what sat there. Placed like a totem beneath her was a calligraphy brush, the wood not petrified, indicating once more the water that ran underground. The bristles were grayed by age. A scribe, or an artist? Perhaps a journalist? He couldn't tell if it was a memorial to her life, or an indicator of a crime of sedition. "Rest in peace. Sorry to have disturbed you," he quietly remarked before departing down the stairs.

XXXXXX

"Day one of our voyage, Captain Keema reporting." The captain's eyes, slit like a cat's, stared out at Uhura, the gaze deeply troubled. The captain appeared young, with long, black hair back in a bun that displayed her pointed ears prominently. Black stripes diagonally ran across her orange face, underneath which was a high black collar. The uniform top fit loose, with long sleeves that added a flourish to the captain's gestures. Two gold bars measured out her shoulders. Whenever she opened her mouth to speak, she revealed pointed teeth. She gave no surname. A mirror displayed the back of her head to the viewer, while behind her on the shelves were several books. Two figurines of prowling big cats stood behind her. "While I am dubious about the intent of our mission, I have no further choice in the manner. The NRS-58 is as repurposed as I am. Likely, this will be my final voyage." She lowered her gaze, her hands scuffling along her desk. Pulling up a screen to show the viewer, she displayed a map. "I am to bring our passengers to this uninhabited rock. However, I have noted that, due to our lack of adequate energy supply, we won't have enough to return. Likely, Empress Talia is pleased. We will be the fifth plague ship off Iklos within the past fortnight. If the Empress thinks that she can send her problem away, then fine. Iklos can burn, for all I care." Her voice had dropped to a growl, and she lowered the map to place upon the desk. Reaching over, she shut off the computer.

The next entry displayed Keema tapping a clawed finger moodily upon her desk. A steaming mug of something was beside her. "Day twelve. The plague victims are acting up. The problem is, however, that I don't have enough physicians on staff to tend to them." She took a deep drink of the substance, and slapped her lips. "I sent Kumar in to take care of them, as he was the best equipped, but," she lowered her chin to the palm of her hand, and glanced over from the camera, "we had to lock him in, as well. He caught it." She narrowed her eyes. "When I find out who got my best physician sick…" She closed her eyes, and shook her head. "It doesn't matter, now." Reaching over, she shut the screen off.

If Uhura felt any pity for this captain, it was fast dissipating.

Her suspicions were confirmed in the third recording, which depicted Keema sitting on the table in the back, the chair moved out of the way. She had one black pant leg folded over the other from where she sat between the figurines. In her hands, she moodily ran a finger over her a curved blade, the sheath hanging from her belt, testing its sharpness. She seemed disinterested in the viewer, her eyes barely flicking up. "Day forty. So, this is what my career has come to, ferrying about creatures who piss, shit, vomit, and do little else." She swiped the blade through the air moodily. "Useless, all of them. I wish that I could just—" She broke off, closing her eyes to shake her head. "We've had to jettison dead weight. The crew are complaining about the stench and moans of pain. I have little comfort to give them. We're all stuck in this together, whether we want to, or not. Dr. Yae has brought it to my attention, more than once, that she wants to venture into the containment area to help, but I can't allow it, not after Kumar. Now, if I received a report of Talia becoming ill, herself, wouldn't that be irony. It disgusts me that for the strength of our Empire, we can't even keep ourselves clean."

A knot curled in Uhura's stomach, and she wondered if some of that "dead weight" had, in fact, been alive.

The fourth entry had Keema pacing back and forth behind her chair, her hands over her ears. Apparently having lost track of the days, she yelled a few times, "Can't hear you, can't hear you! La-la-la!" The screen off-lined on its own, making her wonder if it had been activated by mistake. She noticed that Keema's uniform was slightly askew, and her hair was popping out of her bun.

The fifth entry was vastly different and rather disturbing. Keema sat slumped in her chair, her eyes dead. Her hair hung about her shoulders. Her uniform was torn in several places. A low, humming sound was carrying over, and it took Uhura a few moments to release that the captain was growling. Slowly, Keema's vision focused. "I have done what needs to be done," she began, turning slowly in her chair, "Shutting off the oxygen did the trick. Worthless bastards are all dead now." Uhura's fist clenched as Keema went on, her voice dropping, "Dr. Yae led a mutiny. I should have known that little bitch couldn't keep her mouth shut. I've jettisoned the compartment, as well as any mutineers. All were executed via firing squad at 0600 hours, except Dr. Yae. I needed to make an example of her." She lowered her head. "I won't be forgiven for any of this. We are almost out of fuel, and are coming upon our destination. It doesn't matter anymore. I'm tired, and I'm hungry." She shut off the recorder, and Uhura felt a chill racing down her spine.

The final entry gave Uhura pause. Displayed before her was the empty captain's chair. The lights over it were a low red, but the lack of an alert siren indicated to her that it was most likely due to the ship running on auxiliary power. hairs of the back of her neck raised as she registered the background that Keema's figurine had been decapitated, and books and files had been dumped open. The mirror was broken. The recording clocked in at five minutes. Lying one hand on her panel, and one over her armrest, Uhura waited quietly for something to happen.

The chair remained unmoving, however, and she could hear papers whispering, as if someone was turning the pages of a book. Clanging sounded from several floors below. The footage cut to black with no further changes. Uhura rewound the footage, watched again, and noticed nothing except the captain's empty chair. The third time, however, when she viewed it, she slapped her hand over the pause button. Commanding the computer to zoom into the left corner, she enlarged the image. Her breath caught as she registered the image of two amber eyes, glowing with a malicious intent, from the shadows, and directly at the camera. Feeling as if the eyes were boring into her directly, she quickly saved the data, and off-lined the footage.

XXXXXX

Kirk shook his head as he stared down at the copy of Uhura's notes in his hand. His quarters were quiet, despite the company that sat within the room. "We'll have to make a note about the Iklosians, in case others contact them."

"They aren't aggressive, just scared," McCoy interjected, his PADD on the table indicating that he was reading over the personnel file referring to Dr. Yae, taken from one of the PADDs upon Keema's desk. Her face was lined, her ears sticking out from the bob cut of her hair. When he glanced up, his eyes met Kirk's. Kirk gave him a nod.

"Still, caution must be taken," Spock pointed out from the other side of the table, "Fear can drive them to aggressive action, as you both have already seen on the ship."

"They're dying from plague!" McCoy argued, his voice rising.

"Doctor, we don't know if we're also susceptible to it. The holding area had been jettisoned," Spock replied.

"But the plague ships have gone elsewhere," Kirk commented, raising a hand to his mouth and looking away in contemplation, "We just don't know where, yet."

"And we can't take Keema's opinion into account," McCoy added, though his voice had taken on an edge, "She was clearly not well."

Kirk shook his head. "I can't help but be reminded of what happened with the Gorn."

"The Iklosians are perfectly fine with dumping their problems on other planets," McCoy pushed, "This likely isn't the last the Federation will hear from them."

Spock got their attention by holding up his PADD. "The underlying problem, however, as with the village and underground level, is that there is too little information to go on. Without a thorough exploration of the ship's records, we wouldn't know anything about the plague, itself."

McCoy sighed. "Meaning that, until the files are recovered, Dr. Yae died for nothing."

"But why not open trade routes for a cure?" Kirk asked.

"It is not logical, but I can deduce that, frankly, it may have been due to the plague being a form of planetwide embarrassment," Spock theorized, "The plague seems to have been due to poor sanitation, and the Empress might think that it would make her empire look weak by bartering for it."

"If it doesn't implode on itself," McCoy commented with a snort.

"What about the village?" Kirk asked, "That computer underground, and the pit below it?"

"Likely, we won't be able to unravel that mystery on this mission," Spock replied, "The computer was too old to be checked, and it would have been unwise to beam down to the bottom of it, without knowing what was below."

Kirk nodded. "I'll ready the report about Iklos. See you two in the morning."

Spock gathered the PADD, and rose to leave. McCoy lingered for a moment, and waited until the Vulcan left. "Jim, about what happened on the ship, I'm sorry."

"Forget it, Bones," he replied, and in a sheepish manner, continued, "Maybe I've gotten a little overprotective lately." McCoy's eyes flicked to the PADD, and Kirk understood that Dr. Yae and Captain Keema stood in the room with them. "I appreciate your judgements," Kirk reassured, "Even if we don't always see eye to eye on things. I always consider them heavily when I make my decisions."

McCoy smiled knowingly. "Even if I don't like them."

Kirk shrugged. "Well, I never said I was perfect."

With a laugh, McCoy departed.

He caught up to Spock as the Vulcan was boarding the lift. They rode in silence for a few moments until McCoy spoke. "It doesn't make sense, does it?"

Spock glanced down at his PADD. "One story does, that of the Iklosians, a common narrative of devolution from rationality into irrationality that is dependent upon environmental pressures." He lowered the PADD upon realizing what McCoy was bringing up.

The lift doors opened upon Spock's floor. Disembarking with him, McCoy replied, "You wonder why I cling to emotion, Spock. I wonder why you cling to logic. For all intents and purposes, we try to make sense of a universe that, quite frankly, does not, such as in cases," he tapped his PADD, "of too little information."

"Then what would you suggest, doctor?" Spock asked as they stopped before his room.

"Simple, not to rely upon pure logic," he replied, "What do you think I've been trying to drill into you for the last two years?" Relenting, he continued, "The attempt is admirable, however, to understand, otherwise we wouldn't be here." Spock glanced up as he added, "Wouldn't have met you, either."

A yeoman walked by, prompting Spock to break eye contact with him. McCoy, cognizant of his lover's discretion, changed the subject. "I have a couple of notes I want to go over."

Spock nodded. "Shall I assist you?"

McCoy rolled his eyes. "I'd have better luck partnering with a computer, but fine." Glancing about, he registered the familiar surroundings of the room, and felt, in a small way, as if he was returning home. Still, he was tenuous, and kept his vision from the Vulcan artifacts that stood about the room. However, he caught himself, and gave them a decent look, as well, recalling the point he had made to Spock in the rec room.

"Leonard?"

He turned, and saw that Spock stood slightly aside from the door, allowing him free entry and exit. The Vulcan appeared unsure what to say or do, the PADD held by his side. McCoy turned the PADD facedown, and placed it upon Spock's desk, his hand remaining upon it. Spock made no movement toward him, and patiently waited. McCoy slid his hand off, and outstretched it toward him.

Placing the PADD upon the chair behind him, Spock stepped toward him, and brought up both of his hands to hold McCoy's hand between them. "T'hy'la." McCoy was taken aback as he felt Spock's pain, and worry for his well-being. He missed him greatly. He saw Spock's desire to simply sit with him, enjoying his warmth again. Just to have him in his arms, and know that he was there. He leaned his forehead against Spock's, his eyes closed. He felt a soft kiss be placed to each of the closed lids, and otherwise would have found the chaste gesture ludicrous. His embarrassment, however, was met with gentle reassurances from Spock. Leonard lowered his hand, and Spock let go. He took a step forward, and sighed, burying his head into Spock's shoulder. "Missed you too, darling,"

The Vulcan brought his arms about him, his fingers tightly grasping McCoy's uniform. McCoy raised his hand once more, and gave a slight push upon his chest. Spock's grip slackened as he understood that his lover did not want to be picked up. Letting go, he allowed Leonard to walk away, and pause in the doorway where Spock's bed lay just beyond. His hand was on the frame. He glanced over his shoulder at Spock. "Your bed, not mine. You're first. I'd feel like an intruder otherwise."

Spock obliged, moving past him, and brushing his hand against his side to gently push him out of the way. Glancing after Spock as he sat down upon the bed, McCoy's eyes fell on the hardbound copy of Gray's Anatomy that he'd given Spock for his birthday. It was an ancient, badly antiquated Earth tome, but perhaps it was what made it important. Nevertheless, Leonard had felt half-compelled to jettison it out an airlock after paging through its contents.

Spock held out his hand to him, and McCoy slowly took it, his hand unhooking from the frame as he moved around the side of the bed to sit down beside him.

The side of McCoy's head brushed up against Spock's. His hand slowly traced over the Vulcan's, which was resting upon Spock's upper thigh. Spock raised his hand slightly, allowing him to thread their fingers together. The warmth from his companion's body was comforting, and he began to drowse. Hair fell across his closed eyes, and he felt Spock brush it aside, his fingers lingering to stroke over his skin. He knew that Spock could feel his inner turmoil. Spock, however, stroked his hand gently, a reassurance that all was well. McCoy relaxed more against him, his knees bending toward him.

"You haunt me, t'hy'la," McCoy swallowed hard at the characteristic bluntness in Spock's tone.

He collected himself, however, to quip, opening an eye, "I sound like an unwanted guest."

"The contrary," he replied, "I find your company satisfactory."

McCoy snorted at that, and shut his eye again, leaning into him. His hand tightened along Spock's thigh before releasing. Spock released his hand, and trailed it to the side of his legs. "Leonard?" He asked as the doctor shifted in reaction to his bodily movement, "May I?"

He hesitated for a moment, and Spock's hand dropped. However, he stopped him. "Go ahead."

Lifting McCoy's legs, Spock settled them across his lap, keeping them bent in case the doctor needed to get up. McCoy gave a slight smirk at effectively pinning his lover down against his own bed. He leaned in toward Spock's shoulder, and realized for a moment that he truly was drifting now. Fear seized him, and his eyes shot open, his hands coming down on each side of him to sit up, and draw his legs back toward himself. However, he stopped, regaining his bearings, and relaxed his grip, his legs remaining as they were. Spock had let go of his legs and head to prevent him from harming himself. The look in his lover's brown eyes wasn't one of annoyance, rather it was concern.

McCoy felt embarrassed. "I'm sorry. This'll just take getting used to again."

Spock nodded solemnly. "Do you wish to leave?"

He shook his head. "No." Tilting his head sideways, he appraised his lover, and saw none of the animosity that his counterpart had given him, or the primal desire for his body. While the attraction, as well as a much-subdued lust was there, he wouldn't grope or damage him. But both men knew why the hesitation remained, and understood, or were beginning to understand, it. A shade of sadness passed over Spock, and McCoy knew that he could feel it within him, as well. Violated and assaulted, he had felt as if he had been split open.

Running his thumb over Spock's jaw, McCoy leaned forward, and softly kissed him. Spock slowly drew out of it, and leaned his head down, breathing in Leonard's bodily scents, as well as the smell of antiseptic, that emanated from his uniform tunic. McCoy turned his face into Spock's jet black hair, and nuzzled up against it. Drawing out, Spock placed his hands over McCoy's, which had fallen to his bent knees. "You have all the time that you may require, Len."

"And if I choose to go?"

Spock hesitated for a few moments, his hands squeezing McCoy's. At last, he replied quietly, "I will understand."

McCoy nodded his head, and felt a slight smile creeping up on his face. He knew Spock could notice it, though his lover made no indication, allowing him his peace. He had already made his decision, sitting on the Galileo during what had felt like a lifetime ago. Quipping about Spock's failure to command, and disdainful of his life ending so soon, he realized on that day, despite it all, that there was no place he would rather be, should the Vulcan's death come for him.

He couldn't leave him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Iklosians were actually a book idea that I had binned ten years ago. The transhumanism scene was from a short story idea that I had binned four years ago. Since McCoy seemed to be mentally all right in the episode "The Apple," which takes place directly after "Mirror, Mirror," I wanted to add this as a bridging mission between the two episodes. I regret that I have not done more with Sulu in this chapter.
> 
> One of my biggest fears is dying, and no one knowing what happened to me. Considering that in Star Trek, the characters would likely run into something that can't be explained, I wrote that into this.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy, I am nervous about this one. I haven't written much slash until recently, and Star Trek slash only once. I'm also a little nervous due my handling of the subject matter, and the fact that fanfics about what McCoy goes through during and after the events of "Mirror, Mirror" are not rare. However, I did want to do my own take upon this. Originally, this was supposed to be a one-shot, but due to excessive length, I had to split it into chapters. Canon and non-canon materials were researched for this.
> 
> The mirrored version of Spock's prediction about the crew suffering due to McCoy is a nod toward "Plato's Stepchildren." Surprisingly, my influences for this fic were eastern. The mind meld scene was written while I listened to "Game C" from the Death Parade soundtrack. The entire fic itself was inspired by "Kiri" by Monoral, the OP for Ergo Proxy.


End file.
